To fight aloud, is very brave —But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom
The Cavalry of Woe —
Who win, and nations do not see —
Who fall — and none observe —
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love —
We trust, in plumed procession
For such, the Angels go —
Rank after Rank, with even feet —
And Uniforms of snow.
In this short Life that only lasts an hour
In this short Life that only lasts an hour
How much — how little — is within our power
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